Doyle_AScandalinBohemia.txt

A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA

A. CONAN DOYLE


I

To Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him
mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and
predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion
akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was,
I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the
world has seen; but as a lover, he would have placed himself in a false
position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a
sneer. They were admirable things for the observer--excellent for
drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained
reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely
adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might
throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive
instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be
more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet
there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler,
of dubious and questionable memory.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from
each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests
which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own
establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention; while Holmes,
who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained
in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and
alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the
drowsiness of the drug and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He
was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied
his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in
following out those clews, and clearing up those mysteries, which had
been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I
heard some vague account of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in the
case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy
of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission
which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the
reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however,
which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew
little of my former friend and companion.

One night--it was on the 20th of March, 1888--I was returning from a
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my
way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door,
which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the
dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire
to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary
powers. His rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked up, I
saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the
blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon
his chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every
mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at
work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hot
upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell, and was shown up to
the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to
see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to
an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit
case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire, and
looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think Watson, that you have put on
seven and a half pounds since I saw you."

"Seven," I answered.

"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I
fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
that you intended to go into harness."

"Then how do you know?"

"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless
servant girl?"

"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly have
been burned had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a
country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess; but as I have
changed my clothes, I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane,
she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but there again I
fail to see how you work it out."

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long nervous hands together.

"It is simplicity itself," said he, "my eyes tell me that on the inside
of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is
scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by
someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in
order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction
that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly
malignant boot-slicking specimen of the London slavey. As to your
practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms, smelling of iodoform, with
a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge
on the side of his top hat to show where he has secreted his
stethoscope, I must be dull indeed if I do not pronounce him to be an
active member of the medical profession."

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his
process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I remarked,
"the thing always appears to me so ridiculously simple that I could
easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your
reasoning I am baffled, until you explain your process. And yet, I
believe that my eyes are as good as yours."

"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down
into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is
clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up
from the hall to this room."

"Frequently."

"How often?"

"Well, some hundreds of times."

"Then how many are there?"

"How many? I don't know."

"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my
point. Now, I know there are seventeen steps, because I have both seen
and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these little
problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my
trifling experiences, you may be interested in this." He threw over a
sheet of thick pink-tinted note paper which had been lying open upon the
table. "It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."

The note was undated, and without either signature or address.

"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock," it
said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very
deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of
Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with
matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This
account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber,
then, at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a
mask."

"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that it
means?"

"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has
data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of
theories to suit facts. But the note itself--what do you deduce from
it?"

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was
written.

"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked,
endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper could not
be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and
stiff."

"Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an English
paper at all. Hold it up to the light."

I did so, and saw a large _E_ with a small _g_, a _P_ and a large _G_
with a small _t_ woven into the texture of the paper.

"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.

"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."

"Not all. The _G_ with the small _t_ stands for 'Gesellschaft,' which is
the German for 'Company.' It is a customary contraction like our 'Co.'
_P_, of course, stands for 'Papier.' Now for the _Eg_. Let us glance at
our 'Continental Gazetteer.'" He took down a heavy brown volume from his
shelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a
German-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable
as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous
glass factories and paper mills.' Ha! ha! my boy, what do you make of
that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud
from his cigarette.

"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.

"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the
peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of you we have from
all quarters received'? A Frenchman or Russian could not have written
that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only
remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writes
upon Bohemian paper, and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And
here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating
wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes
whistled.

"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancing out of
the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred
and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case, Watson, if there
is nothing else."

"I think I had better go, Holmes."

"Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.
And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."

"But your client--"

"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit
down in that armchair, doctor, and give us your best attention."

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the
passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and
authoritative tap.

"Come in!" said Holmes.

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches
in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich
with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad
taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and
front of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was
thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk, and
secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming
beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were
trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of
barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He
carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper
part of his face, extending down past the cheek-bones, a black visard
mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand
was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he
appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and
a long, straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of
obstinacy.

"You had my note?" he asked, with a deep, harsh voice and a strongly
marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." He looked from one
to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.

"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and colleague,
Doctor Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases.
Whom have I the honour to address?"

"You may address me as the Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I
understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme
importance. If not I should much prefer to communicate with you alone."

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into
my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may say before this
gentleman anything which you may say to me."

The count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin," said he,
"by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of
that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too
much to say that it is of such weight that it may have an influence upon
European history."

"I promise," said Holmes.

"And I."

"You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "The august
person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may
confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not
exactly my own."

"I was aware of it," said Holmes, dryly.

"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be
taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal, and seriously
compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the
matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of
Bohemia."

"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling himself down in
his armchair, and closing his eyes.

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging
figure of the man who had been, no doubt, depicted to him as the most
incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly
reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.

"If your majesty would condescend to state your case," he remarked, "I
should be better able to advise you."

The man sprung from his chair, and paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore
the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground.

"You are right," he cried, "I am the king. Why should I attempt to
conceal it?"

"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your majesty had not spoken before I
was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von
Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of
Bohemia."

"But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down once
more and passing his hand over his high, white forehead, "you can
understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own
person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an
agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from
Prague for the purpose of consulting you."

"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.

"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy
visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress
Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."

"Kindly look her up in my index, doctor," murmured Holmes, without
opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system for docketing
all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to
name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish
information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between
that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff commander who had written a
monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.

"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.
Contralto--hum! La Scala--hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of
Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite
so! Your majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young
person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of
getting those letters back."

"Precisely so. But how--"

"Was there a secret marriage?"

"None."

"No legal papers or certificates?"

"None."

"Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this young person should produce
her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove
their authenticity?"

"There is the writing."

"Pooh-pooh! Forgery."

"My private note paper."

"Stolen."

"My own seal."

"Imitated."

"My photograph."

"Bought."

"We were both in the photograph."

"Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty has indeed committed an
indiscretion."

"I was mad--insane."

"You have compromised yourself seriously."

"I was only crown prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now."

"It must be recovered."

"We have tried and failed."

"Your majesty must pay. It must be bought."

"She will not sell."

"Stolen, then."

"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her
house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has
been waylaid. There has been no result."

"No sign of it?"

"Absolutely none."

Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he.

"But a very serious one to me," returned the king, reproachfully.

"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?"

"To ruin me."

"But how?"

"I am about to be married."

"So I have heard."

"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen, second daughter of the King of
Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is
herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct
would bring the matter to an end."

"And Irene Adler?"

"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that
she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She
has the face of the most beautiful of women and the mind of the most
resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no
lengths to which she would not go--none."

"You are sure she has not sent it yet?"

"I am sure."

"And why?"

"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the
betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."

"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes, with a yawn. "That is
very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into
just at present. Your majesty will, of course, stay in London for the
present?"

"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham, under the name of the Count
von Kramm."

"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress."

"Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety."

"Then, as to money?"

"You have _carte blanche_."

"Absolutely?"

"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have
that photograph."

"And for present expenses?"

The king took a heavy chamois-leather bag from under his cloak, and laid
it on the table.

"There are three hundred pounds in gold, and seven hundred in notes," he
said.

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his notebook, and handed it
to him.

"And mademoiselle's address?" he asked.

"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."

Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he, thoughtfully.
"Was the photograph a cabinet?"

"It was."

"Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have
some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added, as the
wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If you will be
good enough to call to-morrow afternoon, at three o'clock, I should like
to chat this little matter over with you."


II

At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet
returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly
after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however,
with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I was
already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded
by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the
two crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case
and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.
Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had
on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and
his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study
his system of work, and to follow the quick subtle methods by which he
disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his
invariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased
to enter into my head.

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking
groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and
disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my
friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three
times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished
into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and
respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched
out his legs in front of the fire, and laughed heartily for some
minutes.

"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked, and laughed again until he
was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.

"What is it?"

"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed my
morning, or what I ended by doing."

"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and,
perhaps, the house, of Miss Irene Adler."

"Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however.
I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in the
character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and
freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that
there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a
garden at the back, but built out in the front right up to the road, two
stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting room on the right side,
well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those
preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind
there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be
reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined
it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of
interest.

"I then lounged down the street, and found, as I expected, that there
was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent
the hostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and I received in
exchange two-pence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco,
and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say
nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood, in whom I was
not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to
listen to."

"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.

"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is the
daintest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the Serpentine
Mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five
every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at
other times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a
good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing; never calls less
than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the
Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had
driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine Mews, and knew all about
him. When I had listened to all that they had to tell, I began to walk
up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan of
campaign.

"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. He
was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between them,
and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, his
friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred the
photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the
issue of this question depended whether I should continue my work at
Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the
Temple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry.
I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my
little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation."

"I am following you closely," I answered.

"I was still balancing the matter in my mind, when a hansom cab drove up
to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprung out. He was a remarkably
handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man of whom
I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman
to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door, with the air of
a man who was thoroughly at home.

"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of
him in the windows of the sitting room, pacing up and down, talking
excitedly and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently he
emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to the
cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly.
'Drive like the devil!' he shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent
Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half
a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!'

"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well
to follow them, when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman
with his coat only half buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all
the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn't
pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only
caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with
a face that a man might die for.

"'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried; 'and half a sovereign if
you reach it in twenty minutes.'

"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether I
should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau, when a
cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby
fare; but I jumped in before he could object. 'The Church of St.
Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty
minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was
clear enough what was in the wind.

"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the others
were there before us. The cab and landau with their steaming horses were
in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man, and hurried into
the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followed,
and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them.
They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged
up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.
Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and
Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could toward me.

"'Thank God!' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'

"'What then?' I asked.

"'Come, man, come; only three minutes, or it won't be legal.'

"I was half dragged up to the altar, and, before I knew where I was, I
found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and
vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in
the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton,
bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the
clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position
in which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it
that started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some
informality about their license; that the clergyman absolutely refused
to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky
appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the
streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I
mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion."

"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and what then?"

"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the pair
might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and
energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they
separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. 'I
shall drive out in the park at five as usual,' she said, as she left
him. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I
went off to make my own arrangements."

"Which are?"

"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the bell. "I
have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still
this evening. By the way, doctor, I shall want your co-operation."

"I shall be delighted."

"You don't mind breaking the law?"

"Not in the least."

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"

"Not in a good cause."

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"

"Then I am your man."

"I was sure that I might rely on you."

"But what is it you wish?"

"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.
Now," he said, as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our
landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not
much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene
of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at
seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."

"And what then?"

"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.
There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,
come what may. You understand?"

"I am to be neutral?"

"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small
unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into
the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will
open. You are to station yourself close to that open window."

"Yes."

"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."

"Yes."

"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what I give
you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You
quite follow me?"

"Entirely."

"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long, cigar-shaped
roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fitted
with a cap at either end, to make it self-lighting. Your task is
confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up
by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the street,
and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself
clear?"

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and, at
the signal, to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire and
to wait you at the corner of the street."

"Precisely."

"Then you may entirely rely on me."

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepared
for the new rôle I have to play."

He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned in a few minutes in the
character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic
smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as
Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes
changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to
vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine
actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a
specialist in crime.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted
ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It
was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up
and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its
occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock
Holmes's succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less
private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet
neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily
dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with
his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and
several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars
in their mouths.

"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the
house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes
a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse
to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its coming
to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is--where are we to find
the photograph?"

"Where, indeed?"

"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet
size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knows
that the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two
attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that
she does not carry it about with her."

"Where, then?"

"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am
inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like
to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else?
She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what
indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business
man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few
days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her
own house."

"But it has twice been burglarized."

"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."

"But how will you look?"

"I will not look."

"What then?"

"I will get her to show me."

"But she will refuse."

"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her
carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."

As he spoke, the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round the
curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to
the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up one of the loafing men at the
corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper,
but was elbowed away by another loafer who had rushed up with the same
intention. A fierce quarrel broke out which was increased by the two
guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors
grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and
in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the
centre of a little knot of struggling men who struck savagely at each
other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to
protect the lady; but, just as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped
to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall
the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in
the other, while a number of better-dressed people who had watched the
scuffle without taking part in it crowded in to help the lady and to
attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had
hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top, with her superb figure
outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street.

"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.

"He is dead," cried several voices.

"No, no, there's life in him," shouted another. "But he'll be gone
before you can get him to the hospital."

"He's a brave fellow," said the woman. "They would have had the lady's
purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a
rough one, too. Ah! he's breathing now."

"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"

"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa.
This way, please." Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge,
and laid out in the principal room, while I still observed the
proceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lighted, but
the blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon
the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that
moment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more
heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful
creature against whom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with
which she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest
treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had
intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from
under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are
but preventing her from injuring another.

Holmes had sat upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is in
need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the same
instant I saw him raise his hand, and at the signal I tossed my rocket
into the room with a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner out of my
mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and
ill--gentlemen, hostlers, and servant maids--joined in a general shriek
of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room, and out at the
open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later
the voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.
Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way to the corner of the
street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine,
and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in
silence for some few minutes, until we had turned down one of the quiet
streets which led toward the Edgeware Road.

"You did it very nicely, doctor," he remarked. "Nothing could have been
better. It is all right."

"You have the photograph?"

"I know where it is."

"And how did you find out?"

"She showed me, as I told you that she would."

"I am still in the dark."

"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "The matter was
perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an
accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening."

"I guessed as much."

"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the
palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my
face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick."

"That also I could fathom."

"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else could
she do? And into her sitting room, which was the very room which I
suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to
see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were
compelled to open the window, and you had your chance."

"How did that help you?"

"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire,
her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It
is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken
advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal it
was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married
woman grabs at her baby--an unmarried one reaches for her jewel box. Now
it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more
precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure
it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were
enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The
photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right
bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as
she drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she
replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not
seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house.
I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but
the coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it seemed
safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all."

"And now?" I asked.

"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the king
to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown
into the sitting room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when
she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a
satisfaction to his majesty to regain it with his own hands."

"And when will you call?"

"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have a
clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a
complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the king without
delay."

We had reached Baker Street, and had stopped at the door. He was
searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:

"Good night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."

There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting
appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.

"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes staring down the dimly
lighted street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been?"


III

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast
and coffee in the morning, when the King of Bohemia rushed into the
room.

"You have really got it?" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either
shoulder, and looking eagerly into his face.

"Not yet."

"But you have hopes?"

"I have hopes."

"Then come. I am all impatience to be gone."

"We must have a cab."

"No, my brougham is waiting."

"Then that will simplify matters." We descended, and started off once
more for Briony Lodge.

"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.

"Married! When?"

"Yesterday."

"But to whom?"

"To an English lawyer named Norton."

"But she could not love him."

"I am in hopes that she does."

"And why in hopes?"

"Because it would spare your majesty all fear of future annoyance. If
the lady loves her husband, she does not love your majesty. If she does
not love your majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with
your majesty's plan."

"It is true. And yet--Well, I wish she had been of my own station. What
a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a moody silence, which
was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the
steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the
brougham.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.

"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a
questioning and rather startled gaze.

"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left this
morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for the
Continent."

"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise.
"Do you mean that she has left England?"

"Never to return."

"And the papers?" asked the King, hoarsely. "All is lost."

"We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was
scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open
drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.
Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and,
plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was
superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated at
midnight of the preceding night, and ran in this way:

     "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,--You really did it very well.
     You took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I
     had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed
     myself, I began to think. I had been warned against you months
     ago. I had been told that, if the King employed an agent, it
     would certainly be you. And your address had been given me.
     Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to
     know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think
     evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have
     been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new
     to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I
     sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-stairs, got into
     my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you
     departed.

     "Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I
     was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
     Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
     good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.

     "We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by
     so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty
     when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may
     rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he.
     The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom
     he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself,
     and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any
     steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph
     which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr.
     Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours,

                                      "Irene Norton, _née_ Adler."

"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when we had
all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and resolute
she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity
that she was not on my level?"

"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a very
different level to your Majesty," said Holmes, coldly. "I am sorry that
I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a more
successful conclusion."

"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could be more
successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as
safe as if it were in the fire."

"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."

"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward
you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and
held it out upon the palm of his hand.

"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly," said
Holmes.

"You have but to name it."

"This photograph!"

The King stared at him in amazement.

"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."

"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I
have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He bowed, and, turning
away without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him,
he set off in my company for his chambers.

       *       *       *       *       *

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of
Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a
woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I
have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable
title of _the_ woman.